Lover's Masquerade
by TheWomanWhoWaited
Summary: Molly Hooper finds herself in a battle between herself and the man they call the master of mischief.
1. Chapter 1

"Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;

Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;

Being vexed, a sea nourished with loving tears.

What is it else? A madness most discreet,

A choking gall, and a preserving sweet."

~ William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

* * *

It was all darkness. Nothing but pure, unadulterated shadow and gloom, spliced by tendrils of swirling, bitter cold as Molly Hooper sat lonesome, her hands bound behind her sagging back with heavy chains and her small, bruised frame aching from mutilating torture. With every shaky breath she took, billowing clouds of icy smoke escaped from her pale, cracked lips, floating up to the ceiling like wriggling vipers, only to dissipate into the frosty air once again before reaching the stone roofing and falling back down to bite at her sweaty, half-naked body with frigid revenge. She could see nothing, and almost feel nothing, for sleep continued to pull at her senses like the heavy weights tied to her feet, dragging her into the shade of horrifying nightmares that were sure to come in this hell-hole prison.

No windows. No contact with the outside world. Just Molly, alone with her terrifying thoughts and blood caked legs as she sat upon the floor, listening as the rusty latch to her small quarters began to send out a low groan and watching as the door slowly creaked open, revealing two other blurry figures obscured by blinding light.

Molly's breath hitched in her throat as she watched the shorter person push the taller into the room, his hands also secured at the wrist by inescapable manacles, and she winced as he fell to the ground in front of her, his own breath heavy and full of agony as he crashed upon his knees, his face hidden by a heavy, blood-stained cloth. His clothes were in tatters, his faded purple shirt ripped in more places than one, revealing the pale skin beneath as his chest heaved up and down, trying to recover from whatever beatings this person had inflicted. She looked on, his muscles growing taught, twisting in pain and almost crying out with every prolonged inhalation he took, squeezing tighter with each breath, and she couldn't help herself from wanting to help him.

Her glances were full of keen scrutinization, the doctor inside analyzing every inch of bare skin that peeked out from underneath the shreds of cloth, trying to guess his identity, but more importantly, assessing the damage.

Cracked ribs? Definitely.

Punctured lung? Possible, but not likely.

Internal bleeding was a slight risk, but most likely not an issue.

Molly continued gazing over the man's body, examining any pink scars or redding flesh she could find, coming to no important conclusions whatsoever, but her mind only coming to one question: who was he? Why was he being presented to her now, after so long? She tilted her head, attempting to take a closer look, straining to see through the blackness of the corridor and feeling quite responsible for this person. She had no idea who he was, yet here he sat, displayed in front of her like a gruesome show of what her captors were capable of if she ever were to try anything _funny_. It was all so horrible.

Molly felt her eyes begin to sting, the danger of tears threatening to fall down her stoic face as she waited for something, anything, to just give her a sign. She blinked, causing a single tear to find its way down her face and making her wish she could just reach out and catch it in her palm, for weakness was no ally.

Time almost seemed to stand still, the small drop of liquid falling to the floor in slow motion as she watched it hit the stones below, the small splash seeming more like a massive explosion in the quiet room. Her breathing stopped, nothing moved, and she waited in silence, just waiting for what was to come. There was nothing. No movement, but then, in speeding time, the shorter, well-known figure reached forward, pulling the sackcloth away to reveal the one and only Sherlock Holmes. Molly gasped.

"Molly..." he coughed out, his rich baritone voice now coated with torment and misery, but almost in relief of knowing she was there. At this, she struggled forward, her arms pulling on the iron clasps with every ounce of strength left inside, grappling for her freedom to simply reach out and touch his battered face, to just reassure him that he would be alright. She whined, her small, tender voice now rough and gravely from dehydration as she pulled relentlessly on her restraints, wanting nothing more than to just touch him, but with every movement her fetters grew tighter, sinking into her raw flesh, so with half-hearted surrenders, she slumped back down, letting the chains go limp and small whimpers escape her mouth as she thought to herself. This was how they planned to get to her. This was how they would finally break her down.

Sentiment.

Her tiny cries began to fill the room, echoing off the stone and resounding into the surrounding corridors with pitiful longing, but as another tear found its way to the floor below, her cries were silenced by an all too familiar voice.

"Oh dear me, Ms. Molly," the voice slurred out as the blackened figure moved about the cell with snake-like movements, circling the pair like prey as he hissed out in an arrogant tone. "Dear me indeed. Seems we've gotten ourself into a little situation now, haven't we?" His voice pierced through the air like sharpened knives, cutting through the cold with harmful intentions while still carrying an air of condescension that struck Molly to the bone as she continued to sit helplessly on the stone floor, her anger beginning to burn throughout her very core with every wheezy gasp she watched the detective take. She could literally feel the rage beginning to course through her veins, filling her to the brim with burning madness that stirred her aching extremities, forcing her to lunge forward as the figure stopped in front of her and stepped into the light, showing a smug Jim Moriarty standing before the two of them.

"What the hell do you want?!" She cried, springing at him with great force, but only to be caught by rigid, unyielding metal, holding her in place as she attempted to jerk free from her bonds, and she squirmed relentlessly, hoping and praying that a link would break away, but it was no use. Her arms grew tired quickly, her weakening body suddenly failing her, and with great hesitation, she fell back down onto her knees, only to be pulled back up again by a pale hand, grabbing her by the face and pulling her in closer to his own.

"Oh no, no, no," Jim said in a whisper, placing a burning finger to her lips and shushing her as she whimpered in pain, feeling as his fingertips tightened about her malar bones in a bruising, searing grip while she looked into his demon eyes. She could feel hot tears beginning to roll down her cheeks, leaving little paths in the dust that painted her once pristine skin and rolling down to land onto his free hand, and she watched as he moved his fingers to his lips, tasting the saltiness of her tears on his tongue, his eyes practically rolling back in his head with pleasure. Molly swallowed in fear.

"Oh now, don't cry," he said, his voice rich with foul design as he whispered into Molly's muffled ears, wiping her tears again with his rough hand a she attempted to jerk away. "Shhh... Don't cry. Just relax... Daddy's here now and he's going to make everything better."

Molly watched as his eyes flicked downward toward her lips, watching as he slowly leaned in closer, pulling her in as well and then finally forcing her lips into an unwanted, teeth-knocking kiss with brutal speed. She struggled, calling out and trying hard to pull away from him as he began to push her down, crawling on top of her and pinning her to the stone ground, and she screamed inside his sour mouth, crying out for help, but it was no use as he wrestled her down, attempting to pull away the rest of her already ripped clothing.

She tried desperately to escape, wriggling beneath his body as she felt his growing 'need' pressing against her thigh, his free hand riding up her skirt and knee spreading her legs apart while she bucked her chest forward, pushing upward with every sliver of force left within her body. She kicked frantically, attempting everything to force him off of her, her mind racing as she felt him moving the thin fabric of her soiled knickers to the side, his words coming out in whispers as he said her name again and again while he held her arms above her head, his other free hand unzipping his own trousers.

She wiggled. She fought. She turned, hoping something would prove affective in forcing him off, and finally, in a last ditch effort, she bit down hard on his lip, drawing blood and causing him to pull away just slightly in confusion, making him chuckle maniacally.

"PISS OFF, YOU HARROWING BASTARD!" She screamed against him, only to be stopped by a forceful hand colliding with her face, stinging her to the very center and causing her to shrivel into herself further as she heard him laugh. Her pulse roared in her ears, her vision going slightly blurry and breath speeding to a rapid pace as she listened to him taunting her, holding her down once more with forceful, domineering strength and pushing her hard into the rocky ground. Her breath quickened.

"Have you ever wondered," he whispered over the blood pounding in her ears, chuckling slightly, "if he /loved/ you?" The word flew out of his mouth like vicious acid, pushing to eat away at her heart bit by burning bit until it hit her soul, chipping away at her and opening a small wound deep within. Molly watched as he gestured toward Sherlock, his wicked eyes beginning to glow with an infernal fire as he pointed toward the great detective, but she said nothing, replying with only a fiery, questioning glare that didn't seem to affect her attacker in the least, but instead, giving him cause to continue.

"Has he ever loved you; REALLY loved you?" Molly's eyes widened in fear as he spoke, but then narrowed in anger as she looked up at Jim and then back to Sherlock, watching and listening as his lungs wheezed with every gulp of air he took, his weak body drenched in sweat and blood with gashes of pink tissue tearing through his alabaster skin. But still he fought. He was fighting to hang onto the shred of life that still burned brightly within him, and as long as he was still alive, it would be a cold day in hell before Molly would let anything happen to him. Suddenly, she looked over, watching as Sherlock shifted his weight and took in a deep, raspy breath.

"Molly… don't..." she heard him gasp out, only to be interrupted almost immediately.

"Shut UP!" Jim yelled back, his raised voice so close it made her ears ring with white noise and his arm swinging back, his hand clashing into the face behind with a sickening SMACK. "I didn't ask you. I want her to answer." He pulled away from Molly and got to his feet, straightening his striped suit and tucking himself back in, and he watched as Molly scrambled to her knees, moving slightly closer to Sherlock with her body as if to protect him and giving Jim a look as if to say 'fuck off', but only making him laugh at her seemingly petulant stare.

"Oh just look at THAT," he said, his words mockingly sentimental, shooting out cruelly as he rolled his eyes. "Looks like we've added a heroic little princess to our fairy tale! Guess that makes you the damsel in distress, now doesn't it, sexy?" Molly watched as he paused for a moment and moved forward, looking down at Sherlock as he reached down as if to stroke his face in torment, but suddenly changing course and moving to her again, grabbing her about the neck.

"ANSWER ME!" He screamed, picking her up off the floor and then throwing her down again, her body collapsing into a shaking heap.

"I…I-" Molly stuttered out in fear, her face now soaked with tears and voice choked back by sobs caught in her throat as she turned her head to face her assailant, watching as he now moved to Sherlock.

"Of course not!" he interrupted. "How could ANYONE love you? You're just so... So ordinary! It makes me sick!" He let loose a madman's laugh and pulled a black revolver from his jacket, its black metal gleaming as if to grin at her; to tell her it was already too late. She gasped, watching as Jim trained the gun on Sherlock's head and turned to face her, watching as she opened her mouth to cry out, but being unable to produce any sounds but the quietness of dread and hot tears pouring down her face.

"Oh dear Molly... even if he was…foolish…enough to love someone like you, well I guess..." he pulled the hammer back with his thumb, his eyes narrowing into a menacing glare, "I guess we'll never know, now will we?" Molly breathed in hard, watching as Jim moved his finger toward the trigger, and she squeezed her eyes shut, listening as the sound of Moriarty's mad laughter curled like a serpent around the sound of a lone gunshot ringing through the air, carrying the bullet that silenced the great mind everyone knew as Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

Molly's eyes flashed open to the blinding morning sun as it cascaded through her bedroom window, filling her vision with little, white dots as she lay flat on her back, breathing heavily with the essence of gunfire still lingering in her mind, melding into the faint sounds of London awakening outside her open shutters. Her mind raced in a whirlwind of questions, spinning uncontrollably and pushing away every noise while she stared, fixated at the beige ceiling, unable to move, her head spinning in circles while she waited for her racing heartbeat to subside, thinking to herself and asking one simple question: was it really just a dream?

She lay still, finally regaining control of her breathing as she listened to the sounds of cars honking and birds chirping in the distance, slowing her heartbeat to almost normal as she continued to lay still, her chest heaving up and down as she continued to replay the previous scenes over in her head, analyzing every detail with a keen mind's eye.

Molly had never seen this side of herself, this vulnerable shell of a girl that seemed to now be largely making itself known as she lay silent, her heart pounding on her chest as adrenaline rushed through her veins and her eyes filling with tears as she continued to feel the ghost sting of wounding, biting scars upon her skin. It was all new, for this nightmare had never reared its ugly face before while she slept in the months since her relationship with Jim, leaving her alone in blissful slumber while the night after night passed without wake. But now, somehow, the locked doors of her soul had creaked open only slightly, letting her past experiences twist themselves into an inner film, playing out on the screen of her senses in mocking terror and all she could think ask herself was "why?". Why now was this all coming to pass? The blurred thoughts of Moriarty melding into her dreamland, telling her that she was unlovable, untouchable, and wanted by no one, making her want to crawl into her own self and never return to the land of the living.

Molly squeezed her eyes shut, blinking away the tears in her eyes as she wondered to herself what it had all meant, pulling the covers back over her head as she cried silently, thinking that maybe, just maybe, he had been right. Maybe she was unlovable... No, she couldn't think like that, she just couldn't... but was he right? Would anyone actually want her after the past circumstances, which had possibly ruined her reputation forever?

First, it had just been a simple fancy for the consulting detective, with little winks of playful fun and simple freshening up of the lip gloss here and there, hoping he would notice in a normal, human way. But then, after the consulting criminal came dancing into her life, it had turned into nothing except a full-fledged hell, pulling her down into a spiral of abusive, cold-blooded fury that landed his unforgiving palm upon her cheek one-too-many times, not to mention when he left to go sleep with some bloke afterward, and leaving her an empty, broken mess, afraid to love or give herself away. She had tried to make up for it all by getting herself a fiancé, but that had obviously fallen through the cracks when Tom left her without so much as a goodbye, only to text her days later with a short 'Give Sherly my best'.

Honestly, now, Molly was now absolutely terrified of love, for she knew the pain it could bring, and nothing frightened her more than the threat of giving away her entire being again, only to have another smash her trust into disrepair.

She had experienced the heartbreak of learning that the man she loved was incapable of returning the disadvantage. She had felt the terror of knowing anger could overpower caring in a matter of moments, leaving her with multiple scars and tender spots on her skin from countless beatings. And if that wasn't enough, she had now been involved in a failed engagement with Tom, all due to what seemed like her own childish stupidity and folly. With all this past pain, how could she possibly place her full-beliefs in someone else, letting them in completely and showing them her every vulnerability?

Molly sighed, her mind whirling in a rush of multiple, heart-wrenching thoughts as she lay in her bed silently, feeling as the salty liquid trickled down her face constantly as she stared up at the blank ceiling. She reached up, wiping it away with her sheet, when suddenly, her thoughts were broken by a large BOOM in her front room, making her bolt upright and sending her leaping out of her bed.

She ran to her bedroom door, throwing it open but turning around to retrieve the cricket bat that lay hidden in her closet (though she doubted it was really needed), grasping it with white-knuckled, closed fists, and she stepped into the hallway, creeping down the corridor with minute, quiet movements, knowing good and well the 'intruder' already knew of her presence.

She came to the corner, peering around only slightly to catch glimpse of the current situation, seeing nothing, so with lightning speed, she drew in a sharp breath and sprang forward, jumping from behind the wall but coming to a sudden halt, only to find an indifferent Sherlock Holmes crouching in the now empty doorway and clutching what looked like a lock-pick between his nimble fingers. She scanned the room, looking over her front door, which now lay in the middle of her flat, and she looked back up at Sherlock who then stepped inside, picking up the entry-covering and placing it with a THUD back where it belonged. Molly sighed, her face plastered with a look of pure anger and tired annoyance, and her hands dropped to her sides, releasing the blunt instrument.

"Sherlock, what the-?!" She screamed, only to be cut off by a small metal object flying toward her, her hand reaching up and grasping it from the air, and she opened her palm, revealing the key to her flat which she had given him some months ago. She stared down at the object in confusion, her eyes narrowing as the anger that boiled inside her slowly began to dissipate, turning to full fledged exasperation as the cold metal lay in her hand, it's silver glinting with a playful wink, and she looked up, surprised to find Sherlock standing mere inches from her face.

"You changed the lock," he stated plainly, his perfect blue eyes and chiseled features giving her that look which could melt her right then and there, making her insides still quiver a bit. Though she still held a knife against her own throat when it came to having any emotions toward the opposite sex, there was still one thing which she couldn't deny.

Sherlock Holmes was bloody gorgeous, and he always would be. She stared at him for a moment, drinking in his slender form standing in the bright morning sun, distracting her momentarily, his black suit practically shining like black diamonds under a spotlight. She followed the curve of his curly hair as it cascaded perfectly over his forehead, covering his brow lightly with wisps of dark twists, until she came to his bright, questioning eyes, which were now looking directly into hers with a piercing gaze. Quickly, she averted her own, clearing her throat and gathering herself again. She was no longer mad. Simply flabbergasted.

"Erm..." she began, her hands dropping the bat to the ground and beginning to fidget with the hem of her nightdress, and she tightened her purple dressing gown around her small form, tying the silk ribbon with haste and brushing and loose strands of hair from her sleep-worn face. She looked down at the floor, feeling a bit bashful.

"I... erm... You owe me a new door," she spat out quickly, her eyes cast down in embarrassment at her appearance, making Sherlock simply roll his eyes in judgement.

"No," he began, sighing out as he watched Molly attempting to tidy herself before him, making herself a bit more presentable. "It will only need new hinges and then it will be... Oh for God's sake, will you stop trying to fix yourself. You're not making it any better." His words flew out of his mouth in a biting tone as he made his way to the kitchen, searching through cabinets for coffee, but finding none, and Molly looked up at him, her face turning quickly to unabashed annoyance.

He may have been gorgeous, but he was still the ludicrous, absolutely annoying, dick of a man known as Sherlock Holmes.

"Well, I never!" She yelled out, only to be cut off once more by his deep baritone.

"Although it is at least somewhat appropriate that you do care about your appearance in the slightest. Your 'simple' looks are going to help me tremendously." The word simple flew out of his mouth in a drawl of disgust, making Molly place her hands on her hips, and she walked over to him, closing the cabinet which he had previously opened with a loud BANG, confusing him slightly.

"And what do you mean by that, Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" She asked in a perturbed manner, staring him directly in the eyes, his stoic expression unmoving. She watched as he furrowed his brow and then opened his mouth a bit as if to speak, then closing it again, and as if a lightbulb flicked on in the darkness, his eyes lighting up with a daring sparkle, startling her slightly, for she knew that this could never be good.

"Oh, right!" He exclaimed, delicately moving past her toward the armchair and sitting down, crossing his legs and steepling his hands beneath his chin as he continued to look at her.

"We're going to a ball," He looked at her expectantly, awaiting an answer, earning him nothing except a look of complete confusion. Molly only blinked.

"Umm... What do you mean we're going to a... Sherlock I have to work!" She walked over to him, knocking his hands from under his face, causing him to send a cutting glance toward her as she stared down at him, her hands placed on her hips in pure annoyance. She swayed from side to side, her eyebrows furrowing as she continued to gaze at him in question, but he merely gawked at her wide-eyed as he leaned back into his previous position, his hands finding his chin once more while he gazed straight ahead. Sherlock sighed.

"First of all, Molly," he began, his voice dripping with vexation, "don't ever do that again or I will be forced to the point of madness. And secondly, no you do not have to work because I have already called ahead and told them you were feeling a bit under the weather. And judging by the apparent dark circles under your eyes and prominent tear stains upon your face, I would say you had a rather rough night and that I was not wrong in the first place." He looked up at her, only earning himself a healthy slap across his cheek.

"HOW DARE YOU, SHERLOCK HOLMES?!" Molly screamed out, her anger boiling through until it spilled from her entire body, sending heat waves of violence toward the detective who continued to sit in the chair, listening to her scream.

"First you have the nerve to break into my flat, and then you tell me that you've called ahead to my workplace just to use me as a pawn in what I know is another one of your damned cases?! What if I had something important to do? Or what if I have a date tonight, you filthy little prat?! What then?!" Molly flailed her arms around, placing them once again on her hips as she paced back and forth, sending blood-curdling glares toward the man, his stoic persona never changing as his hand reached up, rubbing the now apparent red mark branding his cheek.

"You don't have anything planned, I already checked," he said, guarding his face with his hand as he watched her begin to raise her fist in protest, but putting it back down as he raised his own to halt her actions, "and secondly, the only reason I am taking you is because John has made his stance in the matter perfectly clear that he will not portray himself as my boyfriend in any way, shape, form, or fashion, and since you are the only other person who is willing to put up with such a stubborn arse for more than an hour at a time, you were the next suitable choice. I have also recently become aware of your slipping mental state as of late, and thought that treating you to a complete makeover and masquerade ball might help bring you out of your deteriorative state." He looked up at her, watching as she stopped her pacing, turning to face him once more. She sighed, looking down at the floor in full regret.

"Sherlock, I'm sorry," she began, reaching forward to touch is face in sympathy for her previous actions, "I just... I can't. Not right now... It's just too dangerous for me, and I mean... I don't even have anything to wear." She brushed her hair behind her ear, feigning interest in the carpet below as her words dissipated I to thin air, leaving the, both in silence, and Sherlock leaned forward, reaching for her hand.

"Molly," he began, his voice now awkward and almost human, "I know these past months have been hard for you, but I can promise you that there is someone out there who will have the weakness of sentiment enough to find you attractive in some way. You just have to... Ummm... Get back on the horse, if that's what people say?" He looked up at her, obviously proud of his little speech, and she giggled. It was the most she had ever gotten from him and she would take whatever she could get, Sherlocked or not, and she looked up at him, smirking a bit as he continued.

"And," he let out, dropping her hand quickly and leaning back into the chair once more, "as for your attire, you are to take my card and go find something suitable for the evening. I do believe that there is a wonderful little boutique on Oxford that should suit your needs. Lipsy i do believe, and if you run into any trouble, you need only ask for Jennifer." Quickly, he reached into his back pocket, retrieving his credit card and handing it over to Molly, watching as her eyes widened.

"No, Sherlock, I couldn't..." She began, only to be stopped again by his hand showing the plastic card into her own, closing her fingers around it and forcing her to take it from him.

"Molly," he began again, "you stated yourself that you have nothing to wear and I am simply giving you the necessary means to obtain the appropriate evening wear. Now, go get properly dressed and go find a gown to suit the needs of the night, as well as shoes and whatever else necessary." Molly opened her mouth as if to form words, but no sounds seemed able to escape her lips. Damnit, he was right and now she had no excuse as to not accompany him to the social event, so with slow motions, she moved to her bedroom, only to emerge moments later wearing jeans and her favorite cherry cardigan with a bag slung over her shoulder. She placed his card inside, looking at him as he only smiled his Holmesian smirk.

"Now then, go and find the perfect dress, Ms. Hooper," he told her, placing his hands under his chin yet again. His smile fading as he stared straight ahead while she walked to the door planning to leave him inside, and she stepped into the outer hall, only stopping the door short when she heard his voice one more.

"Oh Molly," he called out, making her turn around to face him before leaving, "Lord Laufeyson has specified the theme as being green and gold, so keep that in mind while you do your shopping." She gave him curt

nod, watching as he turned back around in his chair, going back into his mind place for whatever reasons, and she headed down the stairs toward the street to hail a taxi, thinking of how strange this event would truly be. A masquerade ball at the coveted Laufeyson manor? What a strange night it would be indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

[8 hours later]

By the time Molly returned home from her highly-priced excursions on Oxford Street, it was nearly 4:30 in the evening and she was absolutely exhausted, however there was still much to be done with the remainder of time left in the day, and what a day it had already proven to be.

Though every shopkeeper had been extremely kind in helping her with her endeavors, she was completely drained from galavanting about London for hours, scouring multiple shops for not only a dress, but more importantly, one of a certain green hue. And, to add insult to injury, she did not in fact find her gown at Lipsy, but instead, at her sixth and final boutique nearly seven streets over from her original location, so by the time she made it to her appointment at Illuminata on the complete opposite side of the city, she was so mentally spent that she had no objections to anything her stylist deemed worthy of doing to her precious locks. It had also taken nearly three people to corral her into a cab, given that she could only muster enough strength to tell the cabbie the correct street address, and when she did finally arrive at her building, he was kind enough to wave the fare and "let the pretty lady keep it on account of fatigue".

What an afternoon.

So, now here she was, standing in front of her flat and breathing into herself as she placed the key nonchalantly into the lock (which she noticed Sherlock had fixed), and she turned the bronze knob, stepping inside with her bags in hand, only to be met by a terrifyingly enthusiastic Sherlock on the other side. Molly stifled a groan.

"Oh good, you're back!" He exclaimed quite eagerly, taking her things from her and coaxing her toward the loo with haste, her tired body walking haphazardly as he led her toward the sound of running water in the near distance.

"The car will be here at any moment, so I will take your things to your room and give you some space to prepare yourself for the evening. I would imagine an hour would be more than sufficient considering you have already had your hair and makeup done for the occasion?" His questioning formed more like a statement , making her shoot him a cutting glance, but even if Molly did protest the time constraint, he was too stubborn to listen, so without argument, Molly allowed him to shove her into the now steaming room, closing the door behind her and causing her to slump back onto the wall.

Who knew that social events could be so taxing?

Slowly, Molly began to undress herself, peeling away her now sticking clothing and throwing it to the floor as she reached for towel, placing it on the rack as her nude form languidly moved into the shower with slow motions. She maneuvered herself carefully under the steady stream, keeping her face away from the faucet as she let the warm liquid splash over her skin, pouring down her shoulders and back like tropical waters which threatened to pull her into a deep sleep, but also bringing her into a state of relaxation that washed her exhaustion away, refreshing her again as the smell of lavender lifted away into the hot air. Her body wash always calmed her down, and lavender was known for bringing life back into tired feet, so she closed her eyes, breathing in the scent deeply as she began to feel her senses almost tingling, rejuvenating her entire body while she stood feeling totally decompressed and alive again.

She leaned forward, shutting off the water with a quick turn of the silver handle, her other hand pulling the curtain back as she reached for the white towel that hung just beyond her reach, the cool air hitting her body like a jolt of needed energy. She wrapped the cloth around her torso, stepping out of the tub and placing her feet on the soft rug beneath as she walked over to the mirror, checking to make sure her hair was still perfectly in place, and she then walked to the door, peeking through the crack to make sure she was completely alone. She knew it was unlikely that Sherlock would be waiting for her just outside the door, but then again, she had heard stories from John, so, with a quick peek, she scanned the area, taking in the glorious sight of her empty room.

Molly stepped out of the bathroom, the wintry draft sending shivers up her spine and forming goosebumps on her exposed skin as she made her way over to the bed, her hands quickly latching onto the robe that lie directly in front of her and pulling it tightly about her waist. She had no idea how Sherlock knew where to find her dressing gown, and quite frankly she didn't want to know, so she cleared her mind, focusing on one thing, and one thing alone: her dress.

The beautiful piece of clothing, if one could even call it that, was truly a work of art indeed as it lay on the linen sheets, the delicate crystals sparkling in the rays of evening sun that shone through her open window. She ran her hand over the small golden designs that made their way from the waist, spreading through to the mid-torso and then enveloping the bodice as it flowed to sections of the dark green taffeta in beautiful vine-like patterns that burst forth like sunlight, then finally dissipated into a field of darkening emerald which trailed all the way to the floor. It was a true masterpiece. A priceless work of art, and here it was, laying before Molly as she reached down, grasping it with both hands and holding it out before her, admiring the beauty of such a thing, and without any hesitancy, she cast away her robe, replacing it with silken panties and then finally slipping on the green artistry and walking over to the floor length mirror.

In the biggest sense of the word, yes, Molly did feel like a princess as she looked upon herself, the A-line fitting her like a glove as little tendrils of hair fell about her face with flecks of gold sparkling from her brownish locks, which now lay atop her head in gentle curls. In all her life, she had never felt so wealthy, the dress costing more than anything she had ever received or purchased, making her grin from ear to ear as she turned this way and that, delighted with her choice which she now found worth the inconveniences. This was like dream, a fairy tale even, yet the night had only just begun, and she continued to stare at her radiant reflection, completely enamored with the green ruffles and golden sparkles that now fetchingly draped about her body.

She could have stayed there forever admiring the handiwork of some faraway seamstress had it not been for Sherlock appearing in the mirror's background. Molly jumped at his sight, startling her a bit as she turned around abruptly.

"The car is here if you are ready to..." He looked up from his mobile, drawing in sharp breath as he caught her appearance, his mouth growing suddenly dry. "You look... Ummm... You look absolutely stunning." Sherlock coughed, clearing his throat in discomfort and Molly only smiled, her cheeks going pink as she suppressed her childish laughter.

"And you look rather dashing as well." She replied as she scanned him up and down, his regular attire now replaced by a black Ralph Lauren suit and jacket overlying a dark green waistcoat and tie to match her gown. His face was partially obscured by a simple black mask that covered his high cheekbones, surrounding his deep-blue eyes in a sea of silken ebony.

God, was he beautiful.

Molly averted her gaze, casting her eyes toward the floor once more as she moved closer to her dresser, busying herself with her golden heels and black gloves. She slipped them on, listening to the sound of Sherlock as he shuffled across the carpet, closing in the gap between.

"I... Umm..." He began, his voice dripping with tension as he spoke to her, whilst suddenly regretting everything he had ever thought about her looks, "this is umm... this is for you." Molly watched as he thrust his hand forward in a childlike manner, handing her a delicate, green mask, it's surface covered by a thin veil of black lace that disappeared into small, black crystals which lined the edges and sharp ends, it's sides sloping upward gently to frame her face. She turned around, placing the mask upon the bridge of her nose, her lithe fingers gracefully pulling on strands of smooth, black ribbon and tying it behind her head in a little bow, her dark brown eyes trailing upward once again to see her image behind reflective glass. But this time, there was something different.

As Molly stared back at herself in the mirror, for some unknown reason, she found herself no longer gazing upon her own reflection, but instead into the eyes of a different woman, concealed by nothing more than a mask, but empowered all the same. She stood taller, her aura ablaze, given false pride and ambition by no more than a thin piece of fabric and tatting, hiding her identity from the world and making her worries seem to melt away. Tonight, with this simple mask, she would be unidentifiable to the rest of humanity. She could build herself up into anyone she wanted to be. Someone beautiful. Someone important. But most of all, the one thing she wanted more than anything: someone who could be loved.

Molly spun around on point, her arms throwing themselves around Sherlock's neck in joyous gratitude as she squeezed him tightly, her body feeling as his own went rigid beneath her touch until he finally relaxed, his arms coming up to grasp her tiny waist in an awkward embrace. She kissed his cheek, leaning back to look him in the eyes as she let go, her hands brushing the remnants of any pale makeup from his shoulder and wiping away the smudge of red lipstick that now painted his stony face. She tittered at his expression, clearing her throat to leave the room in an echoey silence as they both stared at the floor, waiting for the other to speak.

"Well then," Sherlock finally coughed out, straightening himself as he walked over to her side, "shall we go?" He moved his arm out for her to take, coaxing Molly to place her hand upon the black threads with a nod of his head, and after a few seconds, she reached around his upper arm, resting her hand upon it only to find herself being whisked rapidly through the living room, down the stairs, and finally to the curb outside where their transport was waiting in the cool night air. His haste made her head spin.

"God, Sherlock would you please just slow yourself down?" She said, gawking at him with wide-eyed annoyance as he only stared in the opposite direction, his gaze fixated directly in front. Molly turned to face it, her own worries completely washed away by pure astonishment.

A black Victorian-age, closed carriage, led by two pure-white stallions, sat at the edge of the curb in place of the taxi which they had previously been expecting, provoking gaping mouths from the pair as they stared at its beauty and watched as a little man, dressed in all black with a golden lapel pin, jumped up from the driver's seat to greet the lovely pair. His eyes seemed to shine an almost electric blue as he smiled a wide grin, making Sherlock shift his weight a bit as he looked him over, deducing any bit of information he possibly could from the slightly shorter man. Molly blinked rapidly, wondering if her own eyes were deceiving her, but the man only continued to beam at them, his eyes still glinting an eerie shade of cobalt.

"Good evening sir and Madame," he spoke to them in a precise manner with a slight Swedish accent, though there was something a bit off about his speech pattern, "my name is Erik, and I do hope that the change in transport is no inconvenience. Lord Laufeyson wants only the royal treatment for an honored guest such as yourself, Mr. Holmes." His face returned to its previous state and Sherlock's followed suit, his eyes narrowing once again as he jumped right into his role, an almost genuine smile crawling across his blank facade.

"Oh no, no not at all," he replied, feigning human emotion as he actually laughed a bit, playing the part of a normal man quite nicely, "this is absolutely brilliant. It will give me a chance to give my fiancé the romantic evening she's always dreamed of having, right love?" He looked down at Molly, giving her a reassuring wink as he goaded her to speak.

Fiancé? Oh right, she forgot. Part of the plan.

"Oh... Erm... Right, yes," she stuttered out, her lips upturning into a gentle, yet sly smile as she placed her other hand upon his chest for it to be taken within his own, "it's definitely better than where he normally takes me. I mean, really, what normal man thinks a crime scene is a proper place for a date?" She looked at Eric who only nodded in polite agreement, but even without looking, she knew that Sherlock was glaring at her with narrowed eyes, so she gazed down at his watch, falsifying interest in the time.

"Oh dear," she said, sniggering to herself as she covered her mouth almost too happily, "we're going to be late if we keep up this idle chit-chat. Wouldn't want to keep Lord Laufeyson waiting for his honored guest." She smiled back at Erik, his eyes once again gleaming a wicked blue, startling the pair yet again as his body now went ramrod straight, his eyes fixated in the near distance until he finally regained his senses, twinkling back at them with a certain alienness as he opened the carriage door, his hand guiding them inside. They both swallowed silently. What was wrong with this man?

Sherlock led Molly inside the compartment, keeping his eyes on the strange driver until the door closed behind them with a subtle _click_, obscuring him from sight, and Molly opened her mouth as if speak, only to be silenced by Sherlock's gloved hand until the carriage became fully mobilized. He waited for the cart to lurch forward, and when they were finally in motion, he lowered his hand, giving her the okay.

"Did you see that?" She whispered, actively trying to keep her voice low as to not provoke suspicion from the coachman. "What was that? His eyes were literally shining. Like... like electricity!" She was flailing her arms about, looking at Sherlock for some explanation.

"Yes, I saw it, Molly, and... Oh for God's sake would you please stop flopping around like some sort of trout?" They both paused, listening as Erik shifted his weight in his seat before finally settling again, and Molly calmed herself, watching as Sherlock leaned across the small gap, lowering his voice even further.

"I did see his eyes, but I honestly have no idea what could have caused them to go completely luminescent," he said, looking up at her, only to be met with a confused gaze. He rolled his eyes and continued.

"Cataracts? Maybe but not likely. Possibly some other medical condition, but there are none in the world that cause any such sensation such as light emitting from the eyes, so not likely. Contacts? Definitely not. However, the lighting of his eyes did seem to correspond with his responses, so that means he is being controlled by something. But what? Some sort mind control device? Highly likely, considering the number of disappearances as of late in connection to the Laufeyson manor." He stared back at Molly, her expression unmoving as he clasped his hands beneath his chin, closing his eyes to think more clearly.

"So, let me get this straight," she said, sitting forward in her seat, "you are making me play your fiancé because you think that Lord Laufeyson is kidnapping people with some weird mind control device. Like an alien? Unbelievable, Sherlock. This is just fucking unbelievable. Do you really expect me to believe...?"

"Scotland yard has received multiple calls from loved ones of the missing, claiming to have last seen them walking into the woods around his estate," he interrupted her, his speedy dialect cutting her off completely. "There have been, in total, 24 disappearances over the course of 4 months related to the master of the house, and each time he has been confronted about it, the responding officers have been reported coming back with a rather cheery disposition, stating that there was nothing suspicious to be seen in or around the house. Now, each time something regarding these cases comes across Lestrade's desk, it is the first thing I hear about and my patience is growing thin with the Greg's team of imbeciles. And now, we have a coachman driving us to the scene of the crimes, who happens to have a rather cheerful attitude toward life, his eyes are glowing bright blue, and his every word is punctuated by a flash of electric light from behind his corneas. So, yes, I DO expect you to believe me, Ms. Hooper, because whenever you eliminate the impossible, whatever is left, however improbable, must be the truth." He leaned back in his seat, sighing to himself as Molly just looked at him, her eyes cast toward the floor.

"Sherlock, I'm...," she began, her voice small and child-like, "I'm really sorry and you're right, I mean, God, you're never wrong so why should I begin to doubt you now?" It was true. Why should she doubt him now? He had always known what was best for her in times of need and most of all, he had always been spot on in his deductions, even when they were unneeded. She peered up at him, gazing through the tops of her eyes as he stared back, giving her an almost-smile as the carriage came to a halt. They both bolted upright, sitting as still as possible with large painted on grins as the door opened slightly, revealing Erik's shining eyes once more. Molly shuddered.

"Welcome to Laufeyson Manor," he said, placing his hand out for Molly to grasp as she ducked out of the carriage, staring up at the grand, white-washed building with pure stupefaction as other in masks, many of royal decent, walked around her clad in hues of green, climbing up the marble staircase leading to the open double doors which shined with warm, golden light. Stringed music poured forth form the opening, flowing into her ears like honey, and she felt as Sherlock grasped her arm lightly from behind, leaning down to whisper a simple, "It's amazing, isn't it?" She nodded her head, reaching for his arm as if to steady herself, for she might faint from disbelief, and she gulped, blinking a few times to keep herself from losing this dream, but it was all real, and this was only the outside. All confidence was now gone. All strength, melted away to nothing.

"Lord Laufeyson should be greeting his guests in the next hour, as is his custom to wait until they have all arrived," Erik said, staring up at the building like it was an idol meant for worship. "Until then, please enjoy yourselves." He bowed to them, turning around quickly and retreating to his previous post. He snapped the reigns, eliciting a whinny from both horses as he drove away, leaving the pair by themselves in the night air and watching as their last companions trickled into the building to join the rest, their arrival met with thunderous clapping. They listened as music and laughter floated into the outside atmosphere, drawing them both in, and they both breathed in deeply.

"Are you ready, Ms. Hooper?" Sherlock asked assuredly, looking at Molly as she straightened her back, her chin slightly upward as she forged confidence. It was time she took on the personality of her mask. Bold, confident, and beautiful. She looked up at him, her mouth in a straight, assertive line.

"Why yes, Mr. Holmes, I do believe I am," she gave him a cursory glance, nodding her head forward and she felt as he started to move toward the stairs, their legs carrying them up, up, up, until finally they stood in the doorway, looking in incredulity once more before finally stepping through the threshold. Everyone stared at them. The final guests. And with a last eruption of applause, they walked down the stairs, listening to the slight thud of the door closing behind them.


End file.
